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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23956156">Redial</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Animationfantic/pseuds/Animationfantic'>Animationfantic</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, Good Omens Lockdown, M/M, Quarantine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:29:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,768</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23956156</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Animationfantic/pseuds/Animationfantic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After the phone call to Crowley, Aziraphale extends an invitation.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>93</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Good Omens Lockdown fics</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Good night, angel.”</p><p>The phone went dead. Aziraphale swallowed and replaced the receiver. He hadn’t expected Crowley to give up that quickly. Why had the angel called in first place? He’d called just to hear Crowley’s voice. However sarcastic, however irritable, any conversation was a joy.</p><p>“I’ll slither right over,” he’d said. “Bring a something, a case of, something drinkable. I’ll watch you eat cake.”</p><p>Aziraphale closed his eyes. A piece of him longed to say yes. “Come right over, dear. I’ll put on the kettle, and you can try some of his lovely apple crumble.” Ached to throw open the door and see Crowley sprawled on the well-worn sofa, nursing a glass of wine while Aziraphale enjoyed the fruits of his labor.</p><p>The world was frightening enough right now. What with the shelter in place order. True, the books were safe from prying mortal paws, but it got lonely, too, sitting here in the bookshop with delicious food for company.</p><p>Aziraphale had to admit he was getting better. He had nothing but time on his hands now.</p><p>July. A solid two months without the demon. He drummed his fingers on the desk in front of him.</p><p>Crowley usually insisted, wheedled and tempted Aziraphale into breaking rules for the simple enjoyment of his company. This wouldn’t be the first time Crowley napped away a crisis. This was the first big one since Armageddon had been called off.</p><p>The would-be robbers had absconded with the early attempts at sourdough loaf. The ones Aziraphale could stand to part with. First attempts hardly produced the best results. Crowley hadn’t argued with any of his usual vigor. That sigh had been almost melancholy. Resigned. Poor dear.</p><p>Well, if Crowley was going to settle down for a good snooze, Aziraphale figured he’d more than earned it.</p><p>*</p><p>Crowley balked at the idea of setting a bad example. <em>We’re meant to stay in place. Set a bad example, yes. Cause more death? No, thanks. Hell isn’t breathing down my neck any more. No sense causing more panic. </em>He sighed and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. </p><p>Crowley was bored out of his mind. He’d watched every episode of <em>The Golden Girls,</em> screamed at his plants, polished the stone eagle, read all his astrology books, and binged the entity of <em>Cheers</em>. There wasn’t much else to do. The days bled together into a humdrum network of dull, dull, and duller.</p><p>When the phone rang, he lunged to answer it and nearly toppled an aspidistra. The silly plant was going through a rebellious steak, refusing to flower no matter how many times he snarled at it. He lounged on the counter in his spotless kitchen and listen to his angel prattle on about his life in quarantine. It was nice to hear his voice. Plants weren’t the best conversationists.</p><p>Only Aziraphale would send burglars home with pastry. A part of Crowley, the biggest part, was tempted to zip through the phone line as soon as he heard about the break-in. What if they came back? Aziraphale could take care of himself. Crowley was fishing for excuses to see his angel. </p><p>He let out a long breath. He’d said his good nights. Time for sleep.</p><p>He righted the fallen aspidistra. “Right, I’m going to bed. No slacking off! If I wake up to leaves all over this flat, you all go in the incinerator. Understand?!” The wall of greenery trembled. Crowley pointed at the aspidistra. “That goes double for you.”</p><p>Crowley raised his fingers, about to snap himself into the comfiest set of pajamas ever materialized. His phone rang again. He didn’t bother to check the caller ID.<br/><br/>“What now, angel?”</p><p>“Crowley, I want you to come over.”</p><p>“Thought you said we were supposed to stay home.”</p><p>“Yes, I know, but…I would rather be aquatinted with you than stuck by myself. I miss you, Crowley. Terribly.”</p><p>*</p><p>Aziraphale twisted the phone cord into knots. He waited with bated breath for the answer. “Crowley, dearest, please. I can’t stand this terrible isolation. Even if you fall asleep, I want you with me. Calling you is the only comfort I have. And if you go to sleep for months…I-I don’t know what I’ll do.”</p><p>There was silence on the other end.</p><p>“Hello? Crowley?”</p><p>A strange ringing filled the line, a violent crackle of static. Aziraphale held the receiver away from his face.<em> What on Earth?</em></p><p>The crackling intensified, growing louder in volume and higher in pitch until the phone began to vibrate. Aziraphale dropped it and sprang back. Had Hell come for Crowley? Was the lack of mischief enough to send Hastur or Dagon to collect him?</p><p>The discarded phone began to shake. Aziraphale seized the nearest weapon, a hefty platter of shortcake, and brought it over his head. Whatever was infesting his landline, it was in for a nasty surprise.</p><p>With an anticlimatic pop, Crowley’s serpent form oozed out of the phone.</p><p>Aziraphale put a hand to his heart. “Thank goodness.” He laid the platter aside and knelt on the threadbare bookshop carpet. “Hello, dearest.”</p><p>A fifteen-foot spill of black scales reared up and bopped him on the nose. “Hey, angel.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Another day of lockdown drew to an anticlimactic close. The windows outside caught the last traces of tangerine as the sun dipped below the London skyline. Aziraphale closed the book, a compilation of 18th century poetry, and sighed. Not the heavy sigh of a cooped-up angel. The contented exhale of an angel holding the light of his life. Said light was sprawled in his lap, snoring softly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Crowley, darling.” Aziraphale ruffled ginger hair. “It’s time. Wake up.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Crowley grunted and snuggled closer. His feet, encased in a stolen pair of tartan socks, stretched unhurriedly toward the ceiling.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Aziraphale wasn’t in a hurry. With the world at a standstill, they had nothing but time on their immortal hands. He scratched and stroked until Crowley stirred. His jaw unhinged, a forked tongue flicked out as he yawned.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“S’time already?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, my love.” Aziraphale kissed his cheek. A decorative pattern from the pillow he’d been curled on had adhered itself to his skin. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Crowley yawned again. “All right,” he grunted. “All right. Come on, angel.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Long legs swung off the sofa, followed by the rest of the gangly demon.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m so glad you’ve agreed to spend quarantine with me,” Aziraphale told him. Hand found hand as they left the back room and ascended the stairs to flat above the bookshop.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Agreed? How could I say no? You’ve gotten good at tempting me, angel. You sounded miserable when we spoke on the phone.” Crowley jostled him playfully. “When have I been able to deny you? Say the word, and it’s yours. You should know that by now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Aziraphale nuzzled his neck. “You’re so good to me, dearest. So nice.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Crowley muttered something under his breath, but pressed closer against his angel. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You </span>
  <span class="s2">are</span>
  <span class="s1"> nice,” Aziraphale insisted.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Keep it up, and I’m sleeping on the couch.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That couch has been yours for over fifty years. I’ve know you far longer. In this case, I have seniority.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, OK,” Crowley said, stifling a snort of wry laughter. “It’s comfy, and it doesn’t tell me I’m, ugh, nice.” Crowley shuddered. More theatrically than necessary, in Aziraphale’s private opinion.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m a demon,” he continued, “I’m not nice. Come on, angel, we’ve been over this.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Aziraphale ignored this. His demon had a heart of gold under the scaled exterior. He needed a reminder every now and again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m new to the idea of sleep, and the bed is far too big without you.” His eyes glistened, and he stuck out his lip. “Please, dearest, don’t argue. Yes, you </span>
  <span class="s2">are</span>
  <span class="s1"> a demon. Nothing will ever change that. You’re a wonderful demon. You’re my demon.” He cupped Crowley’s cheek. “Look at me. Please.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Crowley grumbled toothlessly, but obeyed. His eyes found Aziraphale’s. Twin pools of molten gold flashed in the last light of the sun. The city fell dark. The silence pressed against them like a comfy blanket. In the dark flat, Aziraphale kissed the tip of Crowley’s nose.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re my demon, Crowley. You’re brave, intelligent, loyal, courageous, and you are nice, darling. Nice doesn’t equate to weakness. Hell doesn’t have a hold on you any longer, Crowley. So help me, no demon will ever touch you again. Not while I’m here. I won’t allow them. Listen to me, my love. You are a kind, genuine soul. And I love you for it. Stop denying the goodness inside. You crafted galaxies, once...”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That was a long time ago,” Crowley cut him short. His throat clicked audibly as he swallowed. “More than a lifetime ago, angel.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I wasn’t finished.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Aziraphale clicked his fingers. The room flooded with light. He took Crowley’s hand again and lead him to the bedroom just off the landing. Another snap, and the lights blazed to life. Aziraphale guided Crowley to the bed, and eased him onto it. Crowley obeyed. His eyes never left his angel’s face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“May I continue?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Crowley dipped his head in mute ascent. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Aziraphale crossed to the other side of the bed. He drew back the dark coverlet and draped it over them both. Crowley curled against him, long arms encircling his middle in a warm embrace.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My love,” Aziraphale said gently, “you are so much more than what you think of yourself. Once upon a time, you breathed life into stars, wove nebulas from the raw ferment of imagination...”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How did you know that?” Crowley asked, his voice hoarse.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Azriaphale beamed. “I watched the Star Makers in secret. I saw you grow the first stars. It was one of my earliest joys. To see the fires of creation dancing in their eyes as constellations were crafted. You’re hair was a good deal longer in those days,” he said, and twirled a lock of fire between his fingers.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Crowley chuckled and dragged a knuckle across his eyes. They were suspiciously wet. Aziraphale batted his hand away and cupped his face in both hands.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The stars you created burn bright, my love, but your light outshines them all. Crowley, I love you. My Star Maker. My only one.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He covered Crowley’s face in soft kisses, drying away the tears running unchecked from his amber eyes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’d be lost without you,” Aziraphale breathed, his voice no more than a whisper. “I won’t let you go, Crowley. Not now, not ever.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It took a good few minutes for Crowley to find his voice. He pressed his forehead to Aziraphale’s, laughing in spite of his tears.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Love you too, angel.”</span>
</p>
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